


Just the Two of Them Against The Rest of the World

by closetsherlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Declarations Of Love, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Homophobic Language, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1794364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetsherlockian/pseuds/closetsherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a fic I wrote a few months ago and is set in a universe where homosexuality is illegal. Both John and Sherlock finally admit their feelings for each other, regardless of the potential consequences. Trigger warning for homophobic slurs. Please read my author's notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just the Two of Them Against The Rest of the World

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't published anything in quite some time and this is unbeta'd or britpicked. This is my fifth attempt at writing and second attempt at writing explicit scenes. I'm concerned John and Sherlock are OOC and overly emotional but I think it might be warranted considering the circumstances. Besides, I couldn't really resist overly emotional John and Sherlock. Any feedback or constructive criticism would be most welcome. Please remember I am very new to writing. I've slotted in a sentence from the movie 'Australia' because I think it fits in very well. Depending on the feedback recieved, I might write a prologue to this story, because I like doing things backwards.

_April 12, 2014_  
  
 _The Case of Juliet and Julia_  
  
 _This case is a difficult one for me to write up. I suppose most of you think I would be used to it by now after seeing so many horrible things at crime scenes with Sherlock. I’ve seen murders, mutilations, forced-suicides, but nothing as gut-wrenching as this case. Although Sherlock would call this “boring” but I still feel like it’s my responsibility to discuss this case._  
  
 _This morning Sherlock and I were in our customary positions, him hunched over a microscope and myself reading the newspaper, and Lestrade decided to let himself into our flat. He told us there had been a murder and they needed our help._  
  
 _“Boring,” Sherlock said without even looking up from his microscope. “I told you I refuse to leave the flat for less than a 7.”_  
  
 _I quickly scolded Sherlock and inquired as to what the case entailed. Two young women were found dead in Hyde Park. I convinced Sherlock to take the case and we were at the scene in twenty minutes._  
  
 _What was waiting for us shook me to the bone. Both women were lying in each other’s arms, throats slashed and obvious signs of rape. Their genitalia had been mutilated and blood pooled around them. Upon further investigation, I discovered the injuries had been sustained before the women were killed, a fact that almost made me throw up._  
  
 _“Two women in a homosexual relationship were raped and murdered as an act of vengeance from a vigilante deciding to dish out punishments as he sees fit” Sherlock declared, barely five minutes after we both investigated the bodies._  
  
 _“Fucking faggots,” Anderson muttered under his breath. “They would’ve been killed eventually. Serves them right for being so disgusting and perverse. Makes me sick.”_  
  
 _I know about the law as much as any person. The Act ( Offences against the Person Act 1861, to be precise, but I doubt I have to) explicitly forbid any homosexual relations and if found guilty offenders will be punished by death. In a way Anderson was right - the women most likely have been found out and punished. Due to the nature of the crime, the Yard decided not to investigate further. Although I disagreed with this -_  
  
“Really, John? The Case of Juliet and Julia?” I heard Sherlock sneer over my shoulder, as he often did when I write. “I’d cut that last bit out.”  
  
“What bit?” I asked.  
  
I could practically feel Sherlock roll his eyes at me. “The part where you say you disagree with the Yard’s decision. Don’t want to have them breathing down our neck, John.”  
  
Sherlock was right, of course. I questioned whether or not I should post it on my blog in the first place. Considering Sherlock and I lived together alone, we have already drawn considerable attention to ourselves, and I didn’t want to make it worse.  
  
It couldn’t be worse, at least not worse for me. If anyone in this flat would have cause to panic, it would be me. I’m perverse. Disgusting. Depraved. I wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock didn’t deduce it already. He could probably see my quickened heartbeat when he leaned over my shoulder, felt how I tensed when his body would brush past mine, hear me as a I moaned his name at night, indulging myself while feeling simultaneously ashamed disgusted. If Sherlock did know I haven’t a clue why he hadn’t already left.  
  
Sherlock walked over to the fireplace and I found my eyes following him. I couldn’t help myself. It was like he was the center of my universe, and I just orbited around him. I would do anything for him. I have killed for him. Almost been killed because of him. If he hadn’t copped on that what I felt for him was far more than friendship he didn’t deserve to have such a brilliant mind.  
  
“John…why do you feel the need to blog about this case? I solved it in less than 10 minutes and nothing came of it. No criminal was arrested. There’s no way for you to romanticise and paint me as some kind of hero.”  
  
My pulse quickens every time he speaks, but I was in such a state of tension that I would be surprised if my voice didn’t break. “I…well…it’s the first case we’ve had in a while. Besides, a bit of…social commentary never goes amiss.”  
  
“Social commentary, John? Do tell me why you find that necessary.”  
  
I felt Sherlock’s eyes bore into me without looking up. I couldn't bare to look at him, such a beautiful, unattainable human being.  
  
“I think it’s important to…show how…things…erm” I could barely speak.  
  
“Oh, do hurry up, John. I haven’t the patience for your stammering!” he yelled.  
  
I decided to lay my cards on the table. “Look, Sherlock, just because some things are done a certain way it doesn't mean I necessarily agree with them.”  
  
Sherlock looked confused, yet had that look about him that said he was very interesting. “Go on.”  
  
I got off my chair and walked to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Tea made any situation better. I had a feeling Sherlock would be like a dog with a bone.  
  
“I think it’s quite unfortunate that those two women were raped and murdered just because they loved each other. And the fact that the Yard decided not to investigate the case just because they supposedly deserved it. It’s not right!” I yelled, slamming my favourite mug on the counter, grateful it didn’t smash.  
  
Time seemed to tick by in hours, not seconds, while waiting for his response. Just supporting or condoning homosexual behaviour was enough to land yourself in Her Majesty’s Pleasure. I began to panic and backtrack.  
  
“I’m not one of them, Sherlock. I don’t think what they do is right, but I think it’s a bit much to kill someone because of it. Being hung for loving someone…it doesn't make sense. I mean it does, because it’s wrong, but what two people do in the privacy of their own house is their business and no one else’s. I don’t see how it hurts anyone!”  
  
I decided to walk back to my friend, tea forgotten. Normally Sherlock and I didn’t have any deep and meaningful conversations, being British men and all, but if we were I’d prefer to do it face to face. Sherlock’s face was a mixture of fear, confusion and curiosity. A deadly trio.  
  
“I don’t think it’s right either, John. Loving someone… sometimes you just can’t help it, ” he whispered. “But it is how it is. Regardless of how much you care for someone sometimes it just can’t happen.”  
  
I looked at Sherlock and I could swear my pulse was audible. All I could see was the flickering light of the fire dance across his alabaster skin, his cheekbones protruding in a way that only he could make attractive. Dark curls glossy and perfect, even though they probably haven't seen a bit of product in their life.  
  
I subconsciously clenched my hand and knew instantly Sherlock could tell I was afraid. “Do you wish things were different, Sherlock?”  
  
Sherlock looked at me in a way I have never seen before. He looked like a young boy, frightened, just discovering something for the first time. I felt sweat running down my temple, and it wasn’t just because of the fire. Slowly Sherlock raised his hand to my face and his calloused thumb wiped the sweat from my brow. I realised I was holding my breath. That we were on the precipice of something that we could never come back from. Without really thinking I placed my right hand on his chest, feeling his heart thumping under his silk shirt.  
  
“John… we can’t do this, ” he whispered, and I could swear I saw tears in his eyes. “There are things…I want to say…but…if I do…I won’t…”  
  
“I know, I know. But It’s the way things are.”  
  
My heart felt as though it was going to tear itself in two. Here we were, two men, standing in their sitting room, staring at each other like lovestruck fools. It was practically a crime in itself.  
  
“Just because it is, doesn't mean it should be.”  
  
Sherlock sounded like a broken man. Perhaps there was a chance he felt as strongly for me as I did for him.  
  
“How long?” I whispered.  
  
“Shall I tell you in years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes or seconds?” he replied.  
  
I pulled him into my arms and held him close. The man I truly adored but wasn't allowed to love. Sherlock rubbed his cheek against my hair and I heard him inhale a deep breath, like he was trying to catalogue every little thing about me. I knew we were both too far gone.  
  
“Sherlock, I’m already a sinner, and if it took the devil himself welcoming us into hell before we could live as free men I would gladly wait.”  
  
I heard, and felt, Sherlock laugh against me. “You’re talking as if we weren't living in hell already.”  
  
What I did next was something I would never, ever regret. But perhaps I should have thought it through. Waited until we had a chance to talk about the implications. However, I couldn’t bear to wait any longer. We only have one life on this Earth and I’ll be damned if I was to be miserable for the next fifty or sixty years.  
  
I pulled away from Sherlock slightly and ran my fingers through his hair. Those glorious locks were as smooth and soft as I always imagined. I slowly pulled Sherlock’s face downwards, giving him ample opportunity to stop. The moments our lips met was the moment I knew we were forever to be changed men.  
  
His lips weren't like a woman’s, not soft and gentle, but I didn't really mind. Anything to remind me it was Sherlock I was kissing made the experience so much better. Sherlock's tongue gently pressed against my closed lips, as though he was unsure that I'd let him in. I opened my mouth and let a soft moan deep in my throat, and felt my lips and tongue move against Sherlock’s, my heart racing so fast I began to fear I was becoming tachycardic. I pulled him impossibly closer with my right arm wrapped around his waist and Sherlock ran his nails down my back in response. I involuntarily shuddered when Sherlock's mouth moved from mine, kissing me just under my jaw.  
  
"John...please don't do this if you're not sure. I can't bear the thought of losing you, but if you don't want to I understand.”  
  
I pulled his face up and gently kissed his forehead. "You're an idiot, Sherlock. I will never leave you. They'd have to pry me from your arms if they tried."  
  
They. The police. Society. The judge who would sentence not just me, but my Sherlock, to death if we were ever discovered.  
  
"Take me to bed, Sherlock" I whispered, desperate to take whatever I could while I was still able.  
  
Sherlock's fingers intertwined with mine and he guided me upstairs, hoping the extra floor would give us some protection. Mrs Hudson was a dear, but even she wasn't immune from societal rules. After falling through the door, I began to slowly undress my no longer platonic flatmate (lover?) and pressed gentle kisses on every inch of skin that was uncovered. I could spend hours on his neck alone, but the temptation to lay a gentle bite to Sherlock's collarbone was impossible to ignore.  
  
"Oh, John."  
  
John. J-o-h-n. Four simple letters, three consonants, one vowel and a mere syllable long. Easily the most common name in the English speaking world. Yet when Sherlock Holmes says it 'John' becomes the most erotic combination of letters on the planet. I pulled off Sherlock's purple shirt (oh how I adored that shirt) and threw it carelessly to the side. I could hear myself panting, almost pathetically so, but then I realised I was not the only one. The sound Sherlock made when I gently lapped at his nipple will be forever embedded in my memory. I ran my tongue over the soft peak and dared to gaze it with my teeth. Sherlock clutched at the back of my neck and almost fell to the floor.  
  
"Tell me what you want, Sherlock. I need to hear you say it."  
  
Sherlock ran his mouth down my neck and pulled my shirt from my jeans, desperately trying to feel whatever skin he could. I felt his breath against my ear and leant into him.  
  
"I...I want to take you, John. Take whatever you will give me."  
  
My entire mental processes ground to a halt. Hearing that voice from that mouth from that man saying those things to me. I never imagined this would happen, not here, in my bedroom, in flat B at 221 Baker Street.  
  
I made quick work of both my clothes and Sherlock's, patience was long forgotten with desperation in its stead.  I ground my cock against his and pulled him onto the bed. I wanted to feel every last bit it of him. On me, in me, near me. I might never have this chance again and I refused to let it end prematurely.  
  
"Have you...done this before? I mean, not with women, but..." He asked. I knew it was coming. Little did he know my reputation across three continents didn't apply solely to women. Of course I'd done it. Lonely men living in close quarters surrounded by dust and sand, not any female company to be seen. Fast hands and stifled groans that would never be spoken of the next day.  
  
"Yes, I have."  
  
I half expected him to pull away, bizarrely enough. Seems no matter what took place, I'll still question whether this was about to happen. Instead Sherlock pushed his weight onto me, setting between my legs, the feeling of his leaking cock sliding against mine causing a jolt of pleasure to run straight from my groin and up my spine. Sherlock flicked stray hairs from my forehead and cupped my cheek in his palm.  
  
"Will you...tell me? I want to be good for you, John, " he whispered.  
  
So many words sprang to the tip of my tongue. Words like 'baby' and 'sweetheart' and 'love', words that I could never utter in the light of day. To see Sherlock's innocence like this was a true privilege, a side to him that no one else got to see. No one but me. If one was to look at Sherlock Holmes one could easily assume he had taken many lovers. Confident, gorgeous and I've seen him flirt a confession out of more criminals than I can count. But no. One would be wrong.  
  
I gently caressed Sherlock's mouth against my own, slowly grinding up against him. I took his hand in my own and placed it around my cock, warm, hard and leaking.  
  
"I'll show you what to do, Sherlock. It's alright. I promise everything will be alright."  
  
Sherlock, as always, was a quick study. His hand was moving like an expert’s, gently stroking my cock, pulling down my foreskin and rubbing his thumb over the slit.  
  
"Oh god...Sherlock...you're so good...feels amazing" I groaned, trying to keep my voice as low as possible. I didn't even have to tell him to squeeze my balls or lick my nipple or bite my neck - he seemed to know my body better than I did.  
  
"So responsive, John. Never would've guessed" Sherlock groaned. I felt him rutting against the mattress, seeking any form of friction to relieve some of the tension.  
  
"Let me, Sherlock" I said as I slid my palm down his torso, our bodies both slick with sweat. I wrapped my palm around his shaft and began to stroke him gently. I didn't want this to be over too soon.  
"Jesus, John. That's...don't stop...please don't stop" he panted, fucking my fist.  
  
I felt a familiar warmth in my stomach and balls beginning to clench. I stilled my hand on Sherlock and without a moment of hesitation Sherlock stilled his. A look of frustration flashed across his face, but it was soon replaced with panic and a glimpse of pure fear.  
  
"Not like this," I whispered. "I want to come with you inside me." I hastily opened my bedside drawer without breaking contact. "Use this. I'll tell you what to do."  
  
Sherlock all but snatched the lubricant from my hand and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingertips. I tried not to flinch when the cold gel smeared across my arse. Sherlock's inexperience was starting to show.  
  
"Massage my hole with just the pad of your second finger...that's it...just gently...uhh...oh Sherlock that feels amazing!"  
  
Inexperienced or not, the man knew how to use his hands. A slick finger traced circles across my hole, encouraging the tight ring of muscle to relax.    
  
"John, can I...?"  
  
"Slowly, Sherlock. Just the tip. There you...oh, yes, that's it. So good. You're doing so good for me."  
  
Sherlock slid his finger in and out of my hole, just to the first knuckle. Without the need to be asked he began to push it in further and I found myself thrusting down to meet him. I moaned through gritted teeth and my body threatened to come when Sherlock first hit my prostate. I heard Sherlock chuckle and felt him begin to make his way down my body, kissing as he went, his warm tongue teasing my stomach. I finally felt his warm breath on my course pubic hair. Sherlock's tongue traced a tortuously slow line along the underside of my shaft, audibly sucking precome from the head, all but worshiping the slit, desperate to get as much if it as he could. Sherlock worked a second finger in, scissoring me open. I didn't even have to tell him. My clever, clever Sherlock. He took me in his mouth until I felt the tip of my cock hit the back of his throat. It was one of the most erotic things I'd ever seen, seeing those Cupid bow lips stretch around my cock, his eyes never leaving mine.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Sherlock, you're so amazing, beautiful, perfect" I groaned, barely able to form the sentence. It was like that mouth was made for me.  
  
Sherlock hollowed his cheeks and began to suck in earnest and I actually whimpered when he very audibly let my cock slip from his mouth.  
  
"I need to feel you in me. Please, Sherlock. I can't wait any more."  
  
I heard the cap of the lube tube click open again and saw Sherlock smear the clear gel over his shaft, gritting his teeth and hissing in pleasure.  
  
I wrapped my legs around Sherlock's waist, desperate to have my body as close to his as I could, revealing in feeling his cock pressed between us both. I wanted to have him as close as possible. Sherlock put his left hand on my hip and right on his cock, lining himself up and I felt the very tip of the head pushing against my arse. He looked so unsure, so nervous. I reached down to cup his face in my right palm and stroked my left through his hair, desperately trying to soothe his nerves.  
  
I don't have a mind palace, or a massive intellect, or photographic memory. If anything I had a dusty mind attic and could barely remember what I had for lunch two days ago. But much like the feeling of Sherlock's mouth moving against mine for the first time, feeling his gorgeous cock slide inside me was one thing I would never, ever forget. It hurt in the sweetest way possible, stretching me wide and feeling his balls pressed against my arse when he pushed in to the hilt was so very satisfying. And felt so right.  
  
Our foreheads pressed together and we breathed each other's air, the sound of our mutual panting filled the room.  
  
"Are you ok?" he whispered.  
  
"I've never been more ok in my entire life."  
  
Sherlock began to pull himself out with just his head remaining, and pushed back in achingly slowly. He closed his eyes and groaned, arms tense and I had to pull his mouth to mine, needing to feel as much of him as possible.  
  
"Open your eyes, baby. I need to see you."  
  
He opened his eyes and stared into mine, that smile made my heart stop. So shy yet full of affection. That was him, at least in bed. Nothing like the crass, confident Sherlock the rest of the world saw. He began to get it a steady rhythm, and he actually laughed the first time he hit my prostate, and like the genius that he is, managed to hit it with every thrust. My cock was releasing a steady stream of precome on my stomach, so much that it ran down my ribs and smeared into the sweat soaked sheets.  
  
"John...you feel amazing...so tight. I-I can't believe you're letting me do this."  
  
Letting? Letting him do this? Like I was granting him some huge favour, a privilege that he needed to earn. I put on hand on his arse and pulled down, encouraging him to thrust deeper, harder.  
  
"Harder, Sherlock. Fuck me harder. Bloody hell...don't stop. Never stop," I begged.  
  
Sherlock began to grunt and thrust harder, faster, and I tried to push myself down to meet each thrust, taking him impossibly deeper.  
  
"I'm so close. I don't want this to end," he whispered into my ear, inhaling the mix of sweat and sex as though it was the only oxygen left. I swear I heard his voice beginning to break, thick with emotion and pain.  
  
"Come for me sweetheart. Let go. I don't think I can hold much longer" I said, cradling his face in my hands, kissing whatever skin I could reach, tasting the saltiness of his skin. With three hard thrusts I felt him come, warm heat filling my arse. I could see every emotion, hear every sound that he made. Hearing him was my undoing, the first time I ever achieved orgasm without my cock being touched. My come slicked between us both, Sherlock grinding against me as aftershocks shook his body. I inhaled sharply when I saw tears running down his cheek and felt him tremor.  
  
"Shh, it's alright darling. It's going be ok. I promise." I held him as close as I could, desperate to make his pain disappear. "I swear I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Sherlock stroked my face and I could tell he was trying to encode every minute detail of what had just happened into his mind palace. He pulled out as gently as he could, and come began to drip from my hole.  
  
"John?"  
  
"What is it, sweetheart?"  
  
"If they took me tomorrow, and if I was to never see another day, and if this is all we would ever have. I still wouldn't regret this. I've never, ever done something so right in my life."  
  
Hearing those words made my chest clench and emotions overwhelm. I let myself break, hiding my tears in his hair, but I knew Sherlock could still tell.  
  
"Don't talk like that, Sherlock. Nothing will happen. I love you so much and would tell the world again and again, even if it was with my last breath."  
  
"I love you, John. I mightn't be able to tell you or show you but of beg you, please never forget that."  
  
“I love you, Sherlock, more than anything else in this world.” I placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock's lips as I gave into my need to sleep and felt Sherlock do the same. I silently prayed to a God that I wasn't sure I believed in that everything would be ok.  
  


* * *

  
September 8, 2044  
  
The Retirement of the World's Only Consulting Detective and His Blogger  
  
The time has come for me to write my last blog post. Sherlock and I have decided the time has come for us to retire. We have had a long, successful career and I like to think we made a positive impact on the city. We have solved countless cases, arrested many criminals and built a rather impressive business. I would like to take the chance to thank my readers, my colleagues at the New Scotland Yard, our landlady for many years, Mrs Hudson and especially the now Chief Superintendent of the NSY, Greg Lestrade. I have been asked to collect my many posts and musings to create a book documenting the illustrious career of Sherlock Holmes. I hope to have this written and published within the next few years.  
  
Sherlock and I will retire to Sussex and respectfully ask to be left to enjoy our twilight years. Sherlock intends to keep bees and will most likely still blow up our kitchen with many experiments. We have worked hard and, although Sherlock would say otherwise, we both crave a quieter life.  
  
I don't know if my younger readers remember that there was a time when homosexuality was illegal. The Act was repealed in 2037, and in a move that still surprises me to this day, same-sex marriage was legalised mere years later, but before then, many men and women lived a life of secrecy out of fear of being killed for loving the “wrong” person. Soon after many men and women came from the woodwork and finally had the chance to live the life they deserved, free from fear and persecution.  
  
Due to the nature of our business and the high profile we obtained, Sherlock and I came to the decision to wait until we retired before also telling the world what we have kept a secret for thirty years.  
  
At the age of 67 I would like to announce Sherlock Holmes and I have been living in a committed relationship since 2014. We were legally married on January 1, 2037 (we were actually the first homosexual couple to ever marry in the UK, my eternal thanks to my brother-in-law Mycroft). The reason we have decided to tell the world is because I feel it is important for the future generations to realise the impact bigotry and discrimination can have on others. I can practically hear my dear Sherlock rolling his eyes at me, but I always felt it was important to write a bit of social commentary when I can. I have had a large readership for many years now and I like to think what I say matters. I like to think this new tidbit of information doesn't change how others see us, and I don't know how everyone will react, but if I was to be completely honest I can't bring myself to care. I know this doesn't change who Sherlock and I am, and no one can take away all the good we have done in this world. Maybe society hasn't progressed as much as I like to think it has. But I truly hope it has.  
  
It has been quite an adventure and I couldn't be blessed with a more amazing, incredible, sensational man to share it with.  
  
Regards,  
  


John and Sherlock Watson


End file.
